Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘engine test’ warning winked out, Captain Macao pounded the release on the entry doors and, when they slid open, stormed through onto the upper level shuttle bay of Station Four.
    He checked the padlet once again, verifying the stall number, and then crossed the expansive small craft hangar deck. He casually scanned the array of vessels parked in the successively numbered stalls, all in various stages of repair or disrepair.
    “Relics,” he commented, starting down the seventh row, looking toward Bay 76, spotting an aging Alphan shuttle — another relic from a bygone era.
    He hissed with disappointment, forming a negative first impression. “Fane! What a rust bucket! It needs paint, and who knows what else. Can it still fly?”  
    Once the top of the line, the Blade-Class ambassadorial shuttles now barely ranked above tankers and tugs. The mission required a ship with a good sized hold, quarters for between twelve and twenty men, and the speed to out-run a pirate or a heavy cruiser.  
    “There’s no way,” Macao lamented, letting out a groan, adding it to the growing list of protests he would present to the Star Service Mission Commodore, as further proof of their incompetence.  
    Still, he gritted his teeth and steeled his will, grumbling, “It will have to do.”  

    Cartwright gave the pilot’s console a gentle pat, watching the voice-badge on the top level for signs of unusual vibration. It remained perfectly steady. “Purring like a kitten,” she mused, praising herself for choosing the correct engine balance levels on the first try. “Do I know these ships or what!” She beamed with pride, deciding and pronouncing, “You are ready for take off. Can’t be sure of the autopilot system until we take a test flight, but I think you are back, better than ever.”  
    All the mechs talked to their ships. Like loving parents, they coaxed and cajoled their ‘children’ back to flight-worthy status. She was no exception.
    After shutting down the engines, she tapped the voice-badge. “Shuttle Control, Trader One engine test complete. All systems are showing ready. I’m going to take a coffee break before the test flight.”
    “Roger,” came back quickly, followed by, “Heads up — VIP on the deck.”
    “VIP?” She wondered who it might be, but didn’t ask. Dana used her left hand to release the safety bar from across her lap and stood.
    Through the front viewport, she spotted an officer crossing the deck from the entry hatch.
    Clutching the edge of the pilot’s console to brace herself, she stretched on her toes and craned her neck to watch, murmuring, “‘VIP on the deck’,” followed by, “Uh oh…”
    He was heading straight towards the stall where she was working. She noticed the captain’s insignia on his uniform sleeves and, using her empathic senses, recognized the distinctive energy signature of an Alphan, probably a 33 rd Degree Master of the Elect from the mystery schools of Centauri Prime.  
    “Don’t get many Alphans here at Four,” she muttered, fully intrigued, “and he’s a captain…”
    She trained her mismatched eyes upon the handsome, well-built Captain coming closer and closer to the little Alphan shuttle. “Wonder who he is?”  
    Another much more troublesome thought crossed her mind. “Wonder if he’s coming here?” Then it dawned upon her. “ Trader One is an Alphan ambassadorial shuttle. He has to be coming for it.”
    She focused, empathetic senses registering very little emotion. “Stone cold — like a marble slab…” Her Eridani trainers always described Alphans that way.
    This one was a bit different. He certainly was holding back, masking everything, until he stopped near the nose of the Blade Class shuttle and looked up. Then the facade fell away.
    Cartwright felt a tumultuous flood. In spite of the N-link device she wore that dampened such telepathic and empathic emotions, she sensed his dominate emotions — the main one being